


far away from all the trouble i had caused with my two hands

by imadetheline



Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, FebuWhump2021, Fire, Gen, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadetheline/pseuds/imadetheline
Summary: febuwhump day five - "take me instead"
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: Breathe In, Breathe Out [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140389
Comments: 24
Kudos: 114
Collections: Luke and Vader Bonding, febuwhump 2021





	far away from all the trouble i had caused with my two hands

**Author's Note:**

> title from mountain sound by of monsters and men

The first thing he realizes is that the Imperials are here. But that pales in comparison to the second thing he realizes: he’d led them here, here to this innocent family that’s only crime was helping the injured boy who’d come limping into town two days prior.

He hadn’t told them he was a rebel or that he’d crashed and was waiting for the Rebellion to be able to send a ship to pick him up. He hadn’t told them; he’d let the mother, a kind-faced Pantoran, sweep him from his pleading with a barkeep about lodgings in town, and she’d brought him to their small home with her husband and two children, and they had cared for him. Their possessions were meager, and the father left early and came home late, tired but grinning as he swept his children into his arms. Luke had smiled at that, his heart clenching painfully at the sight of something he’d never had.

But they had been more than kind, sharing everything they had. Because, and Luke knows this all too well, it’s those that are poorest, the most familiar with having nothing, that share without asking for anything in return.

And he, Luke Skywalker, the most wanted pilot in the Rebellion, hadn’t thought to consider that the Empire might have heard about his crash, might come looking. This family had tended to his sprained ankle, fed him, and let him rest in their home, and he’d repaid them by bringing the wrath of the Empire down on their heads.

He can hear the officer’s footfalls on the floor above his head. He’d been lucky enough to be grabbing food for the children in the basement when he’d sensed their arrival. And the family has yet to give him up. He wishes they would, to save themselves. They’d told him over dinner his first night here how they’d fled Pantora for the Outer Rim a few years back when the Imperial presence grew too great. They’d hoped for more safety, more anonymity here. And he’d destroyed that.

But from the words filtering through the floor, Luke’s fairly sure they don’t know for sure he’s here, so he clings to the hope that perhaps they’ll leave without searching. Though he knows it’s a futile hope. He can sense the troopers already surrounding the home. 

It’s dark but not unpleasant down here, tidy and well-kept, just like the rest of their home. Still, the cold seeping through the dirt walls is nearing uncomfortable, and Luke shifts on his feet where he’s pressed his ear against the floorboards, trying to make out the murmurs above him and keep the guilt building in his chest tamped down. They’ll be fine, he tries to reassure himself. They don’t know anything; the Empire will leave them alone.

But when has the Empire ever done anything for its citizens. He hears the words echo loudly, “Arrest them and take them back to base for processing.”

His heart falls to his boots as he hears the raised voices in protest and the scream of one of the children, the girl--Andrava. Just 15 minutes before, Luke had been holding her in his arms, talking to her mother while the woman cooked.

This is his fault.

It doesn’t take him more than a split second to make a decision, and then he’s scrambling across the cellar floor, unheeding of the twinge in his still healing heel. He pushes open the trapdoor desperately, shoving it away as he scrambles back into the hallway leading to the single bedroom. The voices are echoing from the kitchen, and he sprints around the corner without thinking.

The sight that greets him is endlessly painful, guilt flooding his mind. Andrava is being pulled from her father’s grasp and deposited roughly on the table as his hands are tugged behind him by a trooper, his yellow eyes narrowed in anger as he speaks to his daughter, trying to calm her. The little boy, Anren, older than Andrava but still too young, is clinging to his mother’s leg as she pleads to the small, uninterested Imperial officer that they don’t know anything. But she, too, is being herded out of the small home, yelling for her husband. And still, they’ve said nothing of him. His anger surges; he will not let these children grow up without their parents as he had.

“Stop!” he yells into the room, catching the attention of the officer whose eyes widen almost comically. The troopers cuffing the family drop them immediately to reach for their blasters, pointing them quickly at Luke. He doesn’t even flinch; this is hardly the first time he’s stared death in the face. He could try to fight his way out, but a quick glance to Sunve, the mother, her yellow facial tattoos drawn sharply as she breathes heavily, and then he raises his hands slowly. He won’t risk their safety, not when he can sense the other troopers lingering outside the building.

All eyes in the room are fixed heavily on him, and he hears, loud in the silence, the stormtroopers heft their blasters higher at his movement. “Take me instead.” It’s a plea, but Luke doesn’t care. He’s not even looking at the officer; eyes fixed firmly on Sunve and her husband, frozen by the kitchen table, hands protectively on their children. Luke tries to convey with his eyes how sorry he is, how he’s going to do anything to make this right.

The officer narrows his eyes, “And why would we do that?” he drawls, and Luke has to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Stars, why did they send him to investigate suspected rebel activity. Just because he’s not in his bright orange flight suit doesn’t mean he’s not who they’ve been sent to find.

But apparently, he needs to spell it out for the man, “I’m the one you’re looking for. They don’t know anything.” He jerks his head to the family, and the father blanches, eyes flickering to his wife. She doesn’t even blink at the information.

The troopers are stepping closer now. Luke thinks they’re trying to be subtle about it, but they’re not very good. He doesn’t try to move away, though. “ _You’re_ the rebel?” the officer speaks again, still managing to sound like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

And fair, Luke would also like to be anywhere else right now. But that tone is extremely disbelieving, and Luke is more offended than he’d ever admit that the man doesn’t believe he’s capable of being a rebel, but he just grits out, “Yes,” from between clenched teeth.

The troopers are even closer now, slowly edging nearer, binders in hand. Luke’s fear spikes for a single moment, but then his gaze finds the teary yellow one of Andrava, now safely ensconced in her father’s arms once again, and he holds his wrists out without a fight. “They don’t know anything,” he reminds once again as he feels the binders snap closed around his wrists. It sends a chill of fear down his spine, but he doesn’t for one moment regret it. And they’re not Force suppressing ones, which is good. It means they don’t know who he is yet. He can work with that, once he’s far away from here, that is.

And then he’s being dragged forward--rough arms bruising his skin--past the family clutching each other close and out the door into the dark night. The officer trails behind him and then leans over to a trooper waiting beside the door. Luke cranes his neck to look over his shoulder as the officer speaks softly, “Burn it down.”

Panic floods Luke’s veins. “What?!” He’s grinding his heels into the loose soil, trying to slow the troopers dragging him closer to the transport at the edge of the field. “They’re innocent! You can’t!” 

But he knows all too well that they can. 

Luke manages to wrench an arm free of one of the troopers, and he swings around in time to see the edge of the small house burst into blazing flame. The reds and oranges dance merrily as they spread, almost beautiful against the night sky. But Luke has no time for their beauty. The trooper has already grabbed him again, fingers digging into his arm, and the officer is following them, saying something into his commlink. Luke isn’t listening anymore. All he can see is Andrava’s tear-stained blue cheeks and Sunve’s knowing stare as he’d confirmed he was a rebel. And with a ragged yell, the Force is exploding out from him in a shockwave.

The flames flicker in the blast. The troopers are dragging him forward, and then suddenly, they’re not. Distantly he registers the officer moaning on the ground, but Luke is already rushing past them into the door of the small, disintegrating house. He knows Pantorans are more resistant to lower temperatures. Does that make them more susceptible to higher ones? He doesn’t know, and he desperately doesn’t want to find out.

He ducks into the burning doorway, trying to bring a hand up to cover his mouth and nose from the smoke filling the once bright and welcoming kitchen and living area, but quickly realizes they’re bound in front of him and will make it hard to see if he hefts them both in front of his face. He settles for holding his breath, his eyes watering as he tries frantically to catch sight of any of them through the haze and the flames quickly spreading. He stumbles further into the dwelling and finds himself hopelessly missing the cellar's cold from earlier as the heat presses down around him in oppressive waves.

But there, Sunve and her son, his face pressed into her chest. Her yellow eyes are brimming with tears, and she’s coughing, but Luke’s grabbing her arm and pulling her towards where he’s fairly sure the door still is. His lungs are burning, and he has to suck in a breath. The acrid, black smoke fills his lungs, and he stumbles, trying to breathe, to remember where he’s trying to go. But then Sunve is tugging at his arm and pointing back into the destruction. Luke can barely make out her husband and daughter's blue skin through the reds and yellows of flickering flames.

He coughs again and pushes her towards the door, “Go,” he croaks, and she listens. And then he’s pulling himself towards Andrava on shaking legs. And finally, finally, he gets an arm around the man, Andrava in his arms, and he’s tugging them around blazing furniture with pure force of will.

He doesn’t notice they’re out of the building until the cool night air is brushing against his face, pushing his sweaty and soot-stained hair off his forehead like a tender gesture, and then he collapses, sucking in gulps of fresh air into protesting lungs. His vision is flickering, images of flames still dancing before his eyes as dark figures move around him.

The tinny voice of the officer finally breaks through the fog in his mind. “Yes, my lord. We have him. We’ll hold him until you arrive.”

And then another, deeper, darker voice rumbles from a commlink, “Very good, sergeant. Do not let him escape.”

Vader. They know; they know who he is. They’d told _Darth Vader_ , who’s now on his way to collect him. He’s the pilot that blew up the Death Star, and Darth kriffing Vader is on his way here. He needs to leave, needs to leave _now._

Luke pushes himself to his feet. He’s not sure where he finds the strength. His lungs are heaving, and his legs barely support him, but he’s standing. He’s standing, and the officer is right _there,_ lying injured on the dirt but calling for backup. Luke’s eyes catch on the half-collapsed figures of the family, huddling together and coughing. Already, the stormtroopers are stirring, the light of the fire casting their white armor in shades of red. The ground is spinning beneath him, but he knows soon they’re going to notice the family. They’re in danger.

His fear is telling him that _he’s_ in danger. Darth Vader is coming here _for him_. But he pushes those thoughts away. They are in danger, and he can help. He won’t abandon them.

He trips over the ground, but then he’s grabbing Sunve’s arm. He doesn’t remember reaching her. “Go-” he’s interrupted by coughing. “Get medical attention… and then get off the planet.”

There’s shouting behind him, but all he can see are Andrava’s yellow eyes as she looks at him from her father’s arms. Sunve’s protesting, her words unintelligible, but her husband is tugging at her sleeve, stumbling away. “Go, your family n-needs you,” he pushes at her arm, the fire casting shadows across her face. She takes a step backward, grabbing her son’s hand, regret tainting her Force presence.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and then she’s taking her husband’s hand, and they’re staggering through the field away from him, towards the town. Luke watches them go with watering eyes, legs threatening to give out.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into the night after them. He doesn’t deserve her thanks. But he turns to face the troopers coming out of unconsciousness, pulling each other up from the ground. The home is burning to embers behind them. He tries to steady himself, prepare to fight them. 

Darth Vader is coming. Darth Vader is coming. It runs like a mantra in the back of his head, his fear growing. But at least the family is safe; at least his actions didn’t condemn them.

The scene in front of him is blurring, and he doesn’t think his lungs are working. Someone’s coming towards him. He doesn’t understand. All he knows is that he’s in danger. _You’re going to die!_ It echoes in his mind. He lashes out, but he can’t see properly, and the Force is slipping through his fingers. The blast earlier was uncontrolled, and he doesn’t have enough training to know how to call back that power.

His hands--they’re already bound, he recalls--are jerked forward, and he’s pitching forward. But there are hands around his arms, squeezing, squeezing. He can’t breathe. Something hits the backs of his legs, hard, and he crashes to his knees. Then someone’s speaking--the officer, his brain supplies numbly through his haze. “Lord Vader’s been searching for you for some time now, _Jedi_.” Oh, that’s right: he’d used the Force in front of them. A hand grabs his chin roughly and jerks it up until he’s meeting the officer’s gaze. “I’m sure he will reward me for your capture.” 

Normally, Luke would have jerked his face away from the nails leaving scratches on his jaw or mocked the man just to keep himself from collapsing under fear. But now, he just slumps in the man’s grip, trying to heave air into his burning lungs. The foul thickness of the smoke hasn’t left; it feels like it’s filling his lungs and pushing out all the fresh air he’s trying to suck in. His head is spinning, pain pounding behind his eyes, and his vision is blurring. He shudders and closes his eyes against the pain and the fear and the tightness in his chest. The officer snorts above him, “Pathetic,” and the hand disappears from his chin. Without it, his head drops limply, hair falling into his soot-stained face.

Everything is blurring together, memories and time and emotions. Andrava is looking up at him, her blue skin covered in dirt, and she needs to run, needs to leave. No, she isn’t here. Then Sunve is wrapping his ankle, a knowing sparkle in her eyes, and he’d never known his mother. He wishes he had. But no, neither of them are here.

There’s the sound of engines and wind is whipping around him, but still, he leans over his knees, swaying slightly, his head bowed. It’s so cold. But they’re safe. The children will have their parents, won’t know what it is to miss someone you never knew. That’s all that matters.

Distantly, someone’s speaking, “My lord, he- agh, my-” The voice cuts out with mangled words and gasps, and Luke feels similar. Blackness is creeping into his vision, air refusing to enter his body. The cold is everywhere; it’s in his head, in his lungs--forcing air into them. It’s not enough. He tips forward.

And he’s caught in someone’s arms. They’re strong, and they heft him up easily. He’s tired and hurting, and he’d been prepared for only cold and death. And even though maybe his brain is tricking him, this is nice--comforting and warm. He turns into the embrace and feels it tug him closer. His eyes slip shut, the darkness whispering around him, and for some reason, his last thought is of Andrava held tight in her father’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys liked it leave a comment. They make my day! Seriously I love reading them so please leave me one cause they motivate me to write more! if you guys have ideas for other stories send me an ask on tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/imadetheline) or just yell about stuff with me. Info about me and all my other tumblrs are [here](https://infoabtmaddie.carrd.co/#)


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